Marino had had a feeling he’d figured out who Berger’s type was, some rich guy like Greg. But as he’d watched Berger and Lucy together while everyone was in Berger’s living room, then watched Lucy follow her into the kitchen and suddenly leave the apartment, he’d changed his mind and had no doubt whatsoever.

Berger’s weakness, her passion, wasn’t men. Emotionally, physically, she was hardwired a different way.

“Oscar has every reason in the world not to trust anybody right now,” Benton was saying. “We have reason to believe certain fears he’s voiced to authorities about his own safety have merit. We’re taking them very, very seriously.”

“But hold on. There are warrants out for his arrest, for murder. Excuse me, but it sounds like you’re protecting the bad guy here.”

“Oscar, if you’re listening to me”—Benton faced the camera—“you need to call the FBI, whatever field office is local, wherever you might be. You’ll be escorted to safety.”

“Seems like everybody else ought to be worried about their safety, don’t you think, Dr. Wesley? He’s the one police suspect killed those—”

“I’m not going to discuss the case with you, Jim. Thank you for your time.”

Benton unclipped his mike and got up from the table.

“Well, this has been an unusual moment in the New York crime investigation. Two murders have rocked this New Year, and the legendary—I guess I can use the word legendary—profiler Benton Wesley is appealing to the man everybody thinks did it …”

“Shit,” Marino said.

No way Oscar was going to call the FBI, God, or anyone else after hearing that.

Marino logged out and closed his browser as he walked fast. He was sweating under his old leather Harley jacket, and the cold air was making his eyes water. The sun was trying to escape heavy, dark clouds. His cell phone rang.

“Yeah,” he answered, dodging people as if they had leprosy, not looking at any of them.

“I’m going to talk to a couple agents in the field office here. About what we’re doing,” Benton said.

“I guess it went okay,” Marino said.

Benton hadn’t asked for a critique, and he didn’t respond to it.

“I’ll make a few calls here at the studio, then head over to Berger’s,” Benton said, and he sounded down in the dumps.

“It went good, I think,” Marino said. “Oscar will hear it. No doubt about it. He’s got to be in a motel or something, and that’s all he’s got is TV. They’ll keep playing the segment all day and night, that’s for sure.”

Marino looked up at the fifty-two- story glass-and- metal building, fixing on the penthouse facing the park. The grand entrance had TRUMP in huge gold letters. But then, so did everything expensive around here.